


Hold Me Near (Be Forever Here)

by flowerofnettles



Series: The End of the Road [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Love, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Season 15, Sam and Dean in heaven, Soulmates, That's literally all this is, just fluff, post-series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerofnettles/pseuds/flowerofnettles
Summary: Snapshots of Sam and Dean's shared life in Heaven, including Sam's version of the Fourth of July 1996.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest
Series: The End of the Road [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201574
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Hold Me Near (Be Forever Here)

**Author's Note:**

> This could be considered a continuation of my fic _The End of the Road_ , but if you haven't read it, no worries! You can still understand this one no problem. The only semi-important thing to know is my headcanon that Sam’s wife goes to live with another man in Heaven (either a past love pre-Sam or one she met after him), so she’s out of the picture here.  
> This fic was inspired by 4th of July by Aidan Gallagher; it’s such a lovely song and very Sam/Dean-themed, so please listen to it!

Things were different now.

Though it had only been a few hours since they’d both arrived, Heaven so far didn’t feel as strange or foreign as either of them would have expected. The sun had shone bright and warm that day, and then the stars and moon had risen in the sky that night, and trees rustled in the same breeze that unsettled the lake water in view of their sliding glass door. Existence here seemed to be eternally quiet, that was for sure, but aside from that the world itself didn’t seem to be very far removed from the world they’d left.

But still, things were different, not with the world they occupied, but between _them_.

Dean had felt it from the moment Sam had arrived behind him on that bridge. He wondered, as he dropped their dinner plates into the sink to be washed tomorrow, if Sam could feel it too. The difference wasn’t negative, not at all; in fact, it was perfect, from the long and earnest conversation they’d shared when first settling in the living room of their new little cabin, to the long and earnest silence that had followed as they’d eaten their perfect dinner cooked on a perfect stove…everything they’d shared in life was still here, just...different. There was nothing else to think about, nothing to do but exist in one another’s presence and enjoy each second for what it was. And that felt different. It felt _easy_ , like there was no reason left to hold back and nothing to hide because of responsibility or pride or embarrassment. It was just them.

So when they decided to go to bed, and Dean took their empty plates to the sink, he wasn’t particularly surprised like he might’ve been before when Sam walked up to him boldly and deliberately and wrapped his ever-strong arms around Dean’s neck like a small child again.

“Love you,” his younger brother murmured in his ear, barely audible but full of decades of sincerity.

Dean let him hold on as long as he wanted, and tried to meet his eyes when he pulled away, but Sam only barely glanced up to meet his look with a soft expression that told Dean a lot more than words could. Sam patted his brother’s chest, once, his hand lingering for a half-second longer than necessary, before he stepped to the side and made his way down the hall toward the little bedroom on the left.

Dean went to sleep faster than he ever had in his life, on the softest navy blue sheets that were the perfect temperature and a mattress that was the perfect degree of softness. He was surprised, then, that he woke up sometime in the night while the room was still delicately lit by moonlight from the window over his headboard. His sleep had been so deep and heavy, it took him a long moment to realize why he’d stirred.

In life, he would’ve snapped awake and reached for his gun upon being awoken by an unknown presence. Now, there was only one person it could be, and so he simply rolled onto his side and lifted himself up drowsily to face the figure in his doorway.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep but still gentle as he saw how Sam gazed at the floor seemingly in shame.

“Hey,” his brother replied, his voice faint but thick as though he’d been crying, and Dean realized almost immediately that he _had_ been, as he sniffed before continuing. “Sorry. I’m-I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s wrong?” Dean pressed, sitting up straighter as his eyes followed the flickers of emotions on Sam’s face that the younger man was clearly trying to suppress.

“No, nothing,” Sam replied hastily, shifting his weight and refusing to raise his eyes. “It’s just…”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he adjusted on the mattress to wrap his arms around his knees.

“Sam,” he said, firm but still kind, “talk to me, come on.”

For the first time, Sam lifted his gaze to meet his brother’s, and the unshed tears glittering in the pale moonlight made Dean’s heart clench. This was _Heaven_ , and Sam had lived enough of his life in sadness; he shouldn’t ever look like that here.

“Dean,” he almost whispered, sounding so much like his four-year-old self again, “sorry, I know this is going to sound…weird, but can—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously trying his best to steady himself, and then he met Dean’s eyes again pleadingly. “Can I sleep in here?”

Startled, Dean felt his mouth fall just slightly open before he could control his reaction.

“It’s just,” Sam said quickly, apologetically, “I’m kind of having a hard time believing this is real, or that you…that _you’re_ real, and I—”

Dean could hear the unspoken words in his trailing silence: _And I need to be close to you_. He was nodding almost before his brother had even finished speaking, tilting his head invitingly, because this was _Heaven_ , and for the first time he had the luxury of focusing on nothing else but Sam, of having no other purpose but _Sam_ , and practically-speaking the king-sized bed was plenty big enough for the both of them.

“Come on,” he told him without hesitation, and he knew he’d done the right thing when an intense relief flooded all other emotions out of Sammy’s weary face.

The younger Winchester was careful, a little shy it seemed, as he sat on the opposite edge of the bed and swung his legs up and under the blankets.

Dean watched him subtly as the both of them settled; in a matter of seconds Sam was at ease, the tension in his shoulders draining away under the soft blankets and his eyes falling shut for a moment before reopening.

“Sorry,” he said again, but this time it was with more humor than embarrassment. “It’s weird, I know….”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, sitting up just slightly on his elbow, “you don’t have to apologize, okay? It’s just us, right?”

The older Winchester’s smile automatically got wider at the amused and completely content look that passed over Sam’s face.

“No judgment here,” he added lightheartedly but meaningfully, rolling back onto his pillow.

He was almost instantly half-asleep again, faster than the first time, when Sam shifted beside him. Even mostly unconscious and with his head turned the other way, Dean could sense Sam’s eyes on him in the darkness—not a heavy or uncomfortable feeling, but warm and familiar and reassuring. And if his brother seemed to be a little closer to his side of the bed in the morning, Dean was careful not to tease him about it, because he couldn’t imagine how all this must feel for Sam, and honestly his little brother was handling it better than he probably would’ve in the same circumstances.

Eventually Sam stopped his shy request every night, and just changed into his pajamas and settled onto “his side” of Dean’s bed without any fuss or bother. And he was right; before, it would’ve been weird. But things were _different_ here, and all the reasons they’d had for keeping each other at a distance, literally or metaphorically, seemed to have faded away.

+++++++

They had everything they could ever wish or hope for outside the windows of their cabin, and yet it seemed the only thing either of them really wanted was to sit inside and cook and talk and read and watch TV and sleep, always together, all the time.

Even when they did go out to visit other people—their parents, Bobby, Kevin, and all the others—they never found much of a reason to leave one another’s sides. It was nothing on purpose, nothing they consciously chose to do, but without realizing it, they sat closer than they had before, so close they constantly bumped shoulders, hit knees, brushed fingers. It was so subtle and felt so normal neither of them really noticed except to enjoy the comfort of it.

They didn’t always visit loved ones when they decided to leave their little home by the lake. Many times they simply drove. They went in all directions and found something new each time, down every winding road. The forest was extensive, limitless it seemed, endless trees and streams and waterfalls and mountains. But there were always surprises too—the retro diner in Alabama where Dean had gotten the best burger of his life, the prettiest library Sam had ever spent a few hours perusing in New York, the crappy movie theater where they’d gone to see crappy movies in crappy Lebanon. It was all self-serve and almost always empty except when there were one or two fellow wanderers to raise a glass at. Sam and Dean spent those drives laughing at old memories and making new ones in familiar places; apparently Jack had liked the memory aspect of old Heaven as it was and had incorporated it into his new one.

Tonight was one of the driving nights. Tom Petty on the radio, smooth pavement under the tires, the sun just disappearing through the trees in an inferno of red and orange…all of it was perfect just like always.

They’d started out talking about plans for tomorrow, a little debate about whether they should go try to find that white-sand beach Ash kept going on about, which was apparently south of the forest somewhere. They’d finally settled on _maybe_ , depending on what the weather was when they woke up (there’d been gentle, refreshing rainstorms for two days now), when Sam suddenly sat up straight in the passenger seat with wide eyes.

“Wait!” he cried, hand reaching out to catch Dean’s arm. “Dean, pull over. I saw something, I think.”

Dean did, and he followed his brother to stand on the edge of a field surrounded by some tall trees that weren’t particularly eye-grabbing. It certainly felt familiar somehow, but he didn’t realize why until Sam turned to look at him, and his old hazel eyes were bright with so much childlike excitement that Dean’s breath caught in understanding.

“It’s the field,” Sam declared, breathlessly, though Dean had just figured it out. “Dean, Fourth of July 1996—this is the field.”

The memories from that time they’d been shot by paranoid hunters and gone to Heaven were hazy, but Dean did remember this memory had made an appearance then too. (1) He’d always wondered, after all the drama and discord that trip had caused, if this would have shown up in Sam’s rerun eventually too, or if he’d even cared about this memory half as much as Dean did. Looking at Sam’s face now, at how his eyes shone and his smile lit up the night, he finally had his answer.

Sam didn’t waste a moment waiting for a reply; he rushed around to the trunk of the car, and where it was usually empty these days (what with weapons being obsolete here and all) the younger man wasn’t one bit surprised to find it now full of fireworks of all sizes in brightly-colored packaging. He scooped up the over-full box and slammed the trunk shut, heart pounding with anticipation.

“Ready?” he asked Dean with a grin. “Come on.”

Dean didn’t remember the first time reliving this memory very well, but he was sure about one thing: it was a lot better this time around. For one thing, it wasn’t reliving a memory at all; it was creating a new memory, with more fireworks and less baggage. Just the sheer entertainment of watching his overgrown, normally quiet adult brother cheer at each vibrant explosion was enough to make his own laughter echo off the trees. But then Sam lit up several of the big ones in a row, and they came raining down in fantastic sparks of red, white, and blue, and he ran—actually _ran_ —into the center of them, just like back then when he’d been a scrawny kid with a rough background, and Dean had been his big brother who’d just wanted to give him a good Fourth of July.

Dean laughed again, but then it faded into a dazed smile as he just watched Sam, who stood with his hands palm-up and his gaze darting around at the still-falling remnants of color and light all around him. Somehow more fireworks continued to go off, despite neither of them lighting the wicks, and Sam looked like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, standing there with the purest smile of awe and delight as the colors and shadows danced over his face, still youthful and sweet despite the years. Finally his eyes sought out Dean, and the grin he gave him was twenty times more joyful than even that kid’s face had been in 1996.

Dean’s breath caught, and he realized very suddenly that Sam was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. That would have been weird before too, but now things were different. Things were clearer.

+++++++

Once all the fireworks were gone and the field was dark again, they drove until they found an ice cream place all lit up with the radio playing _Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door_ over the outdoor speakers. Dean made himself a classic sundae; Sam got chocolate chip cookie dough in a cone, and they drove some more and bickered about how Dean struggled to eat his sundae while also keeping the car steady.

That night, as they settled into bed, Sam pulled out a hand-drawn map he’d gotten from Ash at the Roadhouse the day before. Dean leaned in to look as he explained this was apparently how they’d find this famously perfect tropical beach, but the pencil sketch wasn’t exactly Google Maps so they’d have to wing it a bit. The older man nodded with tired eyes, not too worried about finding it as he knew they’d figure it out, while Sam traced the road they’d need to follow to get there and tried to gauge how many hours it would take.

Sam didn’t notice that Dean was drifting off until his brother’s temple slid down onto his shoulder.

Dean shook awake instantly, straightening himself up and blinking his eyes open with a grunt and a hasty, “Sorry.”

Sam was thoughtful for a second or two, but then he did the only thing that felt right; with the hand not holding the sketch, he gently pushed Dean’s head back down onto his shoulder and let his fingers linger soothingly at the back of his neck for a moment until Dean relaxed out of his confused and startled tension.

“So I think it’ll be at least five or six hours from here," Sam continued offhandedly, “if you’re up for doing all that driving. The rain seems to be gone so I don’t think we need to worry about that messing up the trip or anything. It’s up to you.”

Dean was only half-listening, mentally adjusting to this new check on their list of dropping all personal boundaries, but then he fumbled to catch up as he found this position made him sleepier than before. Sam’s pajama shirt was nice and soft, after all.

“Yeah, whatever’s good with me, if you wanna go,” he said with a stifled yawn.

He crossed his arms comfortably over his chest, tucking his hands for warmth under the blanket, and it was a surprisingly short time later that he was asleep.

Sam smiled, and shifted so that Dean was more comfortable in his slumber, and was careful not to move around too much as he wrote out a short list of what they might like to take with them tomorrow.

+++++++

They went to the beach and stayed for a week, six days longer than they’d planned. Ash had been right; it was paradise, with weather in the nineties and sand as white as sugar and water tinted turquoise but clear enough to see straight to the bottom.

Dean wore the most obnoxious floral red Hawaiian shirt he could find in the unmanned beachfront shops and begged until Sam gave in and wore its blue twin. There was no one else there, anywhere, and so they spent hour after hour just sitting in fold-out chairs with their toes in the sand, steps away from the little hut they’d found to make their temporary home.

Sam had taken Dean to a beach on Earth once, right after Chuck’s defeat, knowing how much his brother had always wanted to go. Dean had loved it then; he hadn’t stopped smiling the whole three-day trip and he’d even bought a little plastic hula girl to sit on the Impala’s dash (although it had gotten broken less than a month later when a poltergeist had caused them to have a mild accident). But the murky waters and dull brown sand of the east coast were nothing compared to this. This was the paradise Sam had always wanted his brother to have.

So he watched between swallows of his beer as Dean played in the gentle waves like an actual kid with too much caffeine, going under the water and kicking, floating on his back for a few seconds, flailing his arms just to watch the water splash, paddling out further, letting the waves help bring him back in. He brought back interesting seashells he’d found and told Sam about what little and big creatures he could see past his feet when he went out deeper. Sam gave a halfhearted _“Dude!”_ every time he accidentally splattered water on him from his little escapades, but handed him a fresh beer anyway and just listened to him talk. He was ridiculous. Sam had never loved him more.

+++++++

They returned when they felt like it, when the call of their own little lakefront paradise became strong and they wanted to see their home again. The sun went down just as they got back; Dean whistled as he cooked a quick dinner and Sam picked out a couple of movies to watch on their living room TV.

The weather here was cooler but not freezing, so they didn’t bother to light the fire, but halfway through _The Proposal_ (one of Dean’s favorites even if he still wouldn’t admit it), the room got chilly enough to warrant a blanket.

Dean pulled the one off the back of the couch and draped it over them both.

Sam scooted closer to make sure they were sharing equally.

By the time the credits rolled on, Sam’s legs were tucked under him and he was almost sharing the same couch seat with Dean, who didn’t seem to mind his brother’s knee jamming into his thigh or his head almost touching his shoulder where it lay back against the couch cushion.

By the end of the second movie, _Two Weeks’ Notice_ (Sam had a thing for Sandra Bullock, okay), Sam had fallen fast asleep with his head resting against Dean’s upper arm. Dean evaluated the most practical move in the situation, and decided on grabbing the pillow currently tucked under his other elbow. He placed it in his lap, pushed Sam’s head down gently enough so that his brother only barely stirred, and settled him with his upper body on the pillow. Then he flipped the lever to raise the recliner, readjusted the blanket over Sam, brushed his fingers once through his brother’s hair, and went to sleep.

+++++++

They went and visited their parents, and Bobby, and anyone else it struck them to go see. They drove and drove and saw endless miles of Heaven and then went home again, sometimes after hours of driving and sometimes after days. They went back to the beach and then up into the mountains and then to the beach again before returning home once more. Dean fished from their back yard and sometimes fried up his catch but usually tossed it back. Sam read every book in the house and realized that when he was done, the bookshelf changed into a whole new collection to read.

They talked, a lot—about what was happening in that moment, about what had happened that day, about what they’d do tomorrow, about Sam’s life after Dean, about things that had happened on Earth they’d never discussed but probably should have. Dean was angry, for the first time in a long time, when he realized his voicemail had been swapped by the angels back when Lucifer got out for that first almost-Apocalypse. (2) Sam was sad, also for the first time in a long time, when he heard that Dean had nearly killed himself to make a deal with Billie when he’d thought Sam had been killed in a werewolf hunt. (3) Both men were enraged and heartbroken to hear the details of the torture each had endured during their times in Hell (though neither of them suffered any lasting trauma from it, not here, not anymore). And both men were touched to discover that they’d each secretly swiped a t-shirt from one another the night Sam had left for college.

They talked and teased and even played pranks (though Bobby put a firm stop to it when it escalated just like it always had). They argued about what to watch on TV and what to listen to on the radio. They shared meals and drinks and blankets and Dean’s bed. They stood close everywhere they went during the day and sat close on the couch in the evenings and slept close in the bed at night.

One night long after the sun had set, Dean came to bed after a late shower and found Sam still awake reading one of the newly-appeared books from the living room shelf. 

“Must be interesting,” he commented lightly on his brother’s intent expression, tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper across the room.

“Yeah, it is,” Sam replied, setting it aside on the nightstand with the bookmark carefully in place. “I’d tell you about it, but I’m not sure if _Plato’s Eleven Dialogues Lost to History_ is your thing.”

“I’ll wait for the movie,” he agreed, prompting a wry smile from his brother.

Dean sighed heavily as he snuggled under the blanket, and Sam reached over him to flip off the bedside lamp so that the room was draped in shadows balanced only by chunks of moonlight from outside. Sam shifted closer, just like he always did, and turned toward his brother. Dean lay there, one arm under the back of his head, enjoying the silence and the darkness for a long moment until it was broken by Sam’s quiet murmur.

“Dean?”

He turned his head in the darkness to find his brother’s eyes looking up from lower on his own pillow.

“Mm?” he grunted.

“What..is this?”

He waited a moment for Sam to elaborate, but when he didn’t, Dean’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

“What?”

“This,” Sam answered more emphatically. “All of it. You…and me, here, like this.”

He seemed like he wanted to say more, but his voice was already timid with a strange sort of nervousness; and Dean could understand. Things that should have felt weird just didn’t here; the way they existed now was so much like before, and yet…not. It was different. They were different. 

But now that he was thinking about it, if he had to put it into words, he’d say it wasn’t really different at all; actually, it was almost like they were _more_ than before, like they were what they always could’ve been and had never had the freedom, or the clarity, to be until now.

_Soulmates_ , the word whispered across his mind.

He smiled.

“Does it matter?” he questioned.

While Sam frowned uncertainly at that, Dean scooted down in the bed and lay on his side to be at eye-level with him.

“We’re here, Sam,” he continued with confidence, holding his gaze evenly. “This is Heaven, man. Do we have to go sticking labels on things and trying to shove all this into categories? ‘Cause I’ll be honest—I don’t really wanna do that. I want to just keep things as they are without worrying about it, and I want you to do that too, Sammy. We’re together. Nothing else matters. Can’t we just _be_?”

Sam’s face was solemn for a long moment, eyes lowered as he pondered what Dean had said. Then, his mouth curved in a twitch of a smile and he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze again.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “you’re right.”

Dean nodded, once, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m always right.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dean chuckled, and there was another minute of comfortable silence in which he started to get sleepy, but then Sam’s voice stirred him again,

“Hey, Dean.”

He focused his eyes and took in Sam’s expression, and it wasn’t troubled or nervous this time, but it was definitely serious again.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something…” Sam trailed off, then met his eyes determinedly and started again. “There’ something I need to say to you. I just need to make sure you know, just in case you don’t.”

Dean watched his face carefully, noting every flit of emotion in those expressive hazel eyes.

“Okay,” he said with equal seriousness.

Sam took in a deep breath and shifted a bit on the bed before he began, meeting Dean’s eyes with a look of intense resolve.

“If there ever comes a time,” he said slowly, carefully, “when you want to…be…apart, for a while, for whatever reason—if you ever want us to go our separate ways, to find somewhere else, be with other people—I want you to know I…I’d let you. You’re free to do whatever you want, Dean, and I don’t want you to think that I’d ever…try to hold you back from that, if there comes a time when you really want it.”

It was Dean’s turn to frown as he took in every sincere word, and he would have had something to say to that, but Sam wasn’t finished yet, his words spilling out hastily as he continued with more intensity that added a spark of underlying emotion to his tone.

“But I want you to know,” he said, “that I won’t ever want that. I _know_ that this is where I belong—here, in this house, with you, and I’m never going to want to be anywhere else. I’ve never been happier, or more at peace, than I am right now. And I want you to know that whatever happens, I won’t ever want to leave. I just needed you to hear me say it, because I don’t want you to doubt, or…worry, I guess. This is the happiest I’ve ever been, and there will never come a time when I’ll want anything different. If you want to leave, I’ll let you, if that ever happens. But I’ll _never_ leave you, Dean.”

Something tightened in Dean’s chest, making his breath catch, the fear of abandonment from his life vanishing completely at last, as though it had never existed. And suddenly his eyes were burning and he didn’t even feel stupid about it, because he had something to say too and apparently Sam needed to hear it just as much as he had.

“Hey.”

Sam looked up from where his own eyes were drifting sleepily, and automatically returned Dean’s watery smile.

“Do you really think,” Dean asked, “that I’ll ever want to be without you?”

Sam’s eyes widened as his smile fell in surprise at his brother’s openness.

“Do you think,” Dean went on fearlessly, “that there has ever been a single moment, up here or down there, when I _didn’t_ want you with me? Even in the worst times, it was never like that, Sammy, and these? These are the _best_ times, so you know there’s not a snowball’s chance of me wanting to go anywhere.”

He could see it, Sam turning the years over in his mind, trying to determine if Dean was being literal or just hyperbolic. But Dean was confident in this; there had only ever been one time when he’d even considered wanting to be separated from Sam, when Dean had been helplessly hurt by Sam’s demon-blood fueled betrayal and didn’t know what else to do except let him go his own way for a while in the wake of Lucifer’s escape from the Cage. But even then, Dean hadn’t really _wanted_ Sam gone; he’d just wanted them to get along like before, wanted time to figure out how to get them back to that, time to figure out how to stop their enemies from using them against one another. He'd never intended for it to last, and in the end it only _had_ lasted last a few weeks before he’d realized he was wrong and they'd reunited again, just like they always had.

Sam seemed to conclude exactly what Dean knew he would—that never once had he felt unwanted. And that was because Dean had never once _not_ wanted him.

“I’m here, man,” Dean told him, almost a whisper, a bit higher-pitched with emotion. “I’m not leaving you.”

He hadn’t meant to bring up memories of that night, but he realized a beat after he’d said it that those were some of the exact last words he’d ever said to Sam in life, in that old barn surrounded by dead vampires. Apparently Sam realized it too, because his smile began to tremble just a little, not with sadness, but because this time it meant something so very different. This time it wasn’t a goodbye to make the grief and pain easier, but a promise that their happiness was going to last.

“It’s you and me,” he said, and Sam nodded earnestly before he’d even finished speaking. “You get that, right? It’s forever.”

“Yeah,” his brother answered unwaveringly. “You and me.”

When Sam reached out and settled his hand over Dean’s on the mattress between them, the older Winchester couldn’t help but smile again as he realized their hands were in the exact same position they’d been that night too. Only this time, he wasn’t going cold or numb, and so he was able to curl his fingers firmly around his brother’s, and he felt a new wave of peace wash over him when Sam’s fingers tightened in response; this time, it was Dean who moved his head down slightly to press their foreheads together, and they both closed their eyes and listened contentedly to the sounds of their mingled breaths in the stillness of their Heaven. The vows lingered in the air between them and they both drifted off into deep and restful sleep.

+++++++

Maybe there would come a time when they would be even more than they were now.

Maybe one night in the future when Sam’s head was resting on Dean’s shoulder in the bed, his hand would wander a little more freely and deliberately than usual, tentative but full of affection and love and trust as always. Maybe his mouth would find Dean’s in the dark, and maybe Dean would grasp Sam’s jaw in a warm, calloused hand and kiss him back with the understanding that _this, this was what they’d always been building up to, this was them all along_. Maybe Sam would do everything he could that night to show Dean exactly how much he’d missed him during their time apart, and maybe Dean would reciprocate by showing Sam how proud he was that he’d fought to live in his honor anyway. Maybe they’d finally move beyond the need for words entirely and just confess through touch from then on.

Maybe they’d spend every night for the rest of eternity telling each other everything like that.

Then again, maybe not.

Maybe they’d just keep standing and sitting and sleeping close. Maybe they’d just laugh and tease and prank and travel and never be apart for even a single day. Maybe there was no need for that kind of touch, not when they had already professed devotion in every other form. Maybe they’d only be brothers forever, and maybe that was more than enough as it was. 

In the end, their Heaven would be perfect either way, because no matter what changed or what stayed the same, they were _together_ and nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever had.

THE END

+++++++

(1) Reference to Dark Side of the Moon (5x16)  
(2) Reference to Lucifer Rising (4x22)  
(3) Reference to Red Meat (11x17)

**Author's Note:**

> So basically it’s been how many months now? And I’m still not over the finale. Not even close. I just cannot stop thinking about Sam and Dean finally letting go of all the trauma and literally living happily ever after in Heaven where they don’t have to focus on anything except each other for eternity. I mean they really gave us that in the finale and then expected me to be able to function from now on? Realistically I bet they haven’t even been to see their parents yet, beautiful codependent mutually-obsessed bastards. It’s going to be at least ten years before I stop daydreaming about this.


End file.
